Reading Dear Sixteen Year Old Me
by GoldenPhoenix864
Summary: What would happen if the past received letters from themselves from the future? How would they react? This is my take on the characters reading MischiefManaged007s "dear sixteen year old me" story. Please R/R!
1. Draco Malfoy

**A/N: I was reading lots of those "Dear me from the past" letters and I started to wonder what would happen if they did get them. So this is my idea of what would happen if they did. I used the letters from MischiefManaged007 so they get all the credit for that.**

**Disclaimer: i do not own Harry Potter or any of the words in bold.**

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Sixteen year old Draco Malfoy was pacing back and forth in front of a stretch of blank wall on the seventh floor corridor, frowning in concentration. He had nearly fixed the old vanishing cabinet but he was still missing something. Maybe if he asked the room…

_I need to know how to fix the cabinet._

After three turns he opened his eyes.

Nothing.

He took a deep breath. He had to do this, his father was counting on it! He closed his eyes, and resumed his pacing.

_Okay, too specific….Hmmm…_

_Tell me what I need to know most._

He knew it had worked, he could feel it. Sure enough, when he opened his eyes a wooden door had materialised on the wall.

Delighted, he practically ran through it, but then he stopped suddenly.

He was standing in a small room, barely larger than a broom cupboard.

It was completely empty.

Frustrated he kicked the wall as hard as he could, and to his surprise (for he did not expect it to help) an envelope fluttered down onto his head.

Confused but hopeful, he examined the name written on it in familiar handwriting.

_Draco Malfoy_

Excited, he ripped it open, expecting instructions at the very least on how to fix the cabinet, or even possibly a fool-proof way of killing Dumbledore that did not involve him directly doing it. Instead he found fifteen words written in his own handwriting.

**Dear sixteen year old me,**

**You don't exist to please your father.**

**From,**

**Draco Malfoy**

Draco stared at the words in disbelief. What the hell did that mean? It was supposedly written by him, but he was sure he would never write anything like that even if it _was_ possible to receive things from the future. His father was just trying to give him the best future possible. He wasn't using him at all! Well, maybe a little, but that was just to protect him and his mother. And Draco did not serve anyone apart from the Dark Lord, who was his best chance of a future after all. There was no alternative. He was a Malfoy, his future was set in stone.

Wasn't it?

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**Thanks for reading, will update soon!**


	2. Oliver Wood

**So this is the next chapter, but after writing it I suddenly realised that he wouldn't have been out of school yet, I was judging by when Harry was sixteen! So I can write it again if you want or I can just leave it - you decide.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the words in bold.**

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Oliver Wood had a decision to make. It was ten minutes until his first game playing as reserve keeper for Puddlemere United, and judging by the opposition's fouling record (an average of twenty fouls per game) he had a very good chance of playing.

He was changed and ready to go when a letter came through. It was from his father. His mother had fallen very ill and his father was too busy at work to look after her. Oliver was an only child, so it was up to him to look after her. But he might not get another chance to play for the entire season! He didn't know what to do.

Oliver groaned and put his head in his hands. His team captain, Josh Whittleberry, had told him he better decide within the next five minutes or they would be playing without him.

His mother would get better wouldn't she? And this _was_ a very important game. Yes, he would play, and then go home. It was unlikely that the game would go on for more than three days at the most. Yes, he would do that.

He stood up and was about to call Josh to tell him his decision, when a letter flew though the open changing room window and hit him squarely in the face.

"OW!"

Rubbing his eye and grumbling about owls, he reached down and picked up the offending envelope. It was addressed to him, and he though he recognised the writing, but he could not tell where from.

He opened it, hoping against hope that it was not a letter from his father telling him that his aunt had broken her leg again, but what he saw surprised him.

**Dear sixteen year old me,**

**There's a fine line between dedication and obsession – don't blur it.**

**From,**

**Oliver Wood.**

The words hit him like a ton of bricks. He did not know whether the letter really was from him – not that that would be possible of course – but no matter who it was from, the meaning still ran deep. It was true, he had become far too obsessed with the sport. It had become his life during the past few years, he thought of nothing but it. Heck, he had even not studied as much for his O. and N.E.W.T because he was too worried about a _game_.

And now he was about to go and play Quidditch when his mother was alone and seriously ill! When had he become so selfish? But that was going to change now. He was going to change it.

At that moment Josh walked in, broomstick in hand.

"Oliver, we really need to know if you can play, we need to discuss tactics. "

Oliver looked up, letter in hand, and opened his mouth to speak, but did not know what to say.

Luckily, Josh seemed to understand. He smiled

"Go," he said, "it's your family, we'll survive without you,"

Oliver looked at him apologetically, "Sorry," he said as he gathered his things, "But it's an emergency. After all," He smiled softly to himself, "it is just a game."

And with that he strode out of the door without a second glance.


	3. Fred Weasley

**Sorry it's been a while, i just had my exam week so I was studying for that. Here's the next chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the words in bold.**

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Fred Weasley was partying in the common room like every other Gryffindor. Harry had just won the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, and his house had been celebrating all night.

He detached himself from the group surrounding Lee, who had been giving a play-by-play account of Harry's flying, and stumbled over to an armchair by the fire. Most of the house had gone to bed, but some of the older years were still awake. Fred sat by the fire, sipping his butterbeer and watching the flames flicker.

He and George had been thinking. They'd been doing that a lot lately, despite popular belief. Firstly there was the Bagman issue – they were determined to get the gold they were owed, or they'd have to start their products from scratch. Again! They were already recovering from their mother's last raid, which had (unfortunately) been successful.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, gazing up at the ceiling as a firework whizzed by lazily. He and George had just had a new idea the other day – to create a product that would cause the consumer to become ill, not seriously, just enough to get them out of class. Then they could take an antidote and have free time while their classmates would have to pretend to pay attention in class.

The idea had come to Fred (although his twin tried to claim credit for it) during History of Magic, when he was supposedly "making notes" for his upcoming O. . It's not like they needed half the classes they were taking – only potions charms and transfiguration – and in the others they could be spending their time doing something, you know, useful.

The only problem was the ingredients. They had been testing the products on themselves (which by the way was not the smartest idea they had ever had) with so far, ah, negative results.

He sat there for a while, running through possible ingredients in his mind. His eyes located a small explosion-like-hole in the ceiling (he had much experience with them!). Maybe it had been made by previous mischief makers, possibly even the infamous Marauders…

Fred blinked.

Where the hole had been, there was now a piece of old parchment which, as he watched, fluttered down onto his lap.

Curious, he unfolded it and read the short message written upon it.

**Dear sixteen year old me,**

**Acromantula venom works better than doxy droppings.**

**Yours,**

**Fred Weasley.**

Fred's eyes locked in on the signature. This was either a very bad joke, or something very weird was going on. Not only was this letter from "the future" but it included the very information he had been hoping for. He glanced around the common room, trying to spot anyone who may be laughing at him. No one even looked in his direction.

He leaned back in his chair, thinking. On one hand this could be an attempt to get back at him and George for something – they had made a _lot_ of enemies – but on the other it would be stupid not to take this very obvious hint.

As he was thinking, his twin tumbled into the armchair opposite him.

"Hey Fred!" George said, glancing back over his shoulder at the crowd of sixth year girls who were giggling and glancing in his direction. "Those sweets are great! They're making me verrry popular with the ladies, I can tell you, did you kno- What's that?"

George had just noticed the parchment held in Fred's hand. He quickly crumpled it and shoved it in his pocket. He looked up at his twin's curious expression. Eh, he thought, what's life without a bit of risk?

"Nothing." He said, grinning mischeviously "But we've got some work to do."

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**Like i said, sorry about the lack of updates for all my stories. Please R/R!**


	4. Albus Dumbledore

**A/N: I realised that Dumbledore did not meet Grindlewald until he was an adult, so I will have to do this chapter with Dumbledore as a bit Percyish, very ambitious, but without Grindlewald's influence.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the writing in bold.**

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Sixteen year old Albus Dumbledore looked up impatiently as his bedroom door creaked open. Really, it was impossible to get any peace around here what with his obnoxious brother interrupting him all the time! How was he supposed to ever become somebody without getting good enough N.E.W.T results? He already had an embarrassing family background to deal with, he didn't need any _more_ problems…

He scowled as his thirteen year old brother slouched into the room, a familiar sullen expression etched upon his face.

"What do you want this time Aberforth? I don't have much time, and I am not covering for you again if you've brought another goat into the house!"

Aberforth scowled at Albus as he entered the room fully. He looked much like Albus if one went by appearance; they had the same auburn hair, blue eyes and straight nose, but people often did not realise that they were brothers unless they looked twice. Aberforth's face was constantly occupied by a moody glower, whereas Albus's expression was generally cheerful. Albus stood straight and proud in the centre of attention, while Aberforth slouched in the shadows. Albus was studious and hard-working and Aberforth was…not.

Aberforth glared at his older brother as he approached the desk.

"A letter came for you" he said, shortly, "and Mum says dinner will be ready at eight."

With that he dropped a brown envelope on Albus' Charms textbook and stomped out of the room, taking care to muddy the carpet with his filthy boots.

Sighing in exasperation, Albus picked up the letter Aberforth had left. With any luck it would be a response from the Headmaster about taking his N.E. a year early.

He was disappointed however, when he saw the short message written upon the parchment.

**Dear sixteen year old me,**

**Those who actively seek power often do not deserve it.**

**Yours,**

**Albus Dumbledore.**

Albus stared at the letter in his hand in confusion. Was this some kind of joke? Sure it looked like his handwriting, but that was impossible. And what did it mean "Those who actively seek power often do not deserve it." How could someone become all powerful without seeking power?

Albus leaned back in his chair, turning the paper over in his hands thoughtfully.

It was probably from Aberforth, he thought, he knows my handwriting well enough. But why on earth would he write it? He's told me enough times that I'm too ambitious so why did he go to the trouble of putting it on parchment? Maybe he thought I would believe that it really was written by "my future self" and would take the words to heart! The fool!

Giving a dry laugh, Albus threw the parchment into the waste paper bin in the corner which coughed hoarsely and swallowed it. Going back to his work, Albus soon forgot about the strange letter and the dire warning that came with it.

He would come to regret that

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**Sorry for the delay in getting this up, I was on holiday with no internet access. I probably will update my other stories next so I might not do this one for a while. But I will try so see you soon , hopefully.**


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